


Sing For Our Time, Too

by averita



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/pseuds/averita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing For Our Time, Too

**Author's Note:**

> Written pre-Sometimes A Great Notion for the Make Laura Happy challenge on LJ. Title and translation come from Homer's _The Odyssey_ , as translated by Robert Fagles.

Dust rose in great plumes from the rubble around them as heavy structures, rusted in place after over a century of neglect, were shifted and shoved aside. The occasional cough still sounded, but only minutes into the first excavations it had become obvious that masks or helmets of some sort would be necessary to work for any period of time, leaving an assortment of tired-looking workers wearing an odd array of handkerchiefs, surgical masks, and in one case half of an old bikini top wrapped around a young woman’s mouth.

Laura Roslin watched with glazed eyes several feet away from the site, a gas mask at her side. “They’re making progress,” she noted, turning to look at Helo, standing next to her. “You said that this was a museum?”

“Best we can tell, ma’am,” Helo replied. “There are old displays, life size models, even some animals that had been preserved, although they’re mostly rotted away by now. One group of Sixes found an information billboard next to a display, the translation team has it now.” Laura nodded slowly.

“Good.” Exhaling raggedly, she added, “We need everything we can get.”

The seven months they had spent on Earth so far had yielded little information about its former inhabitants, mainly due to limited manpower. Since coming planetside, most civilians had refused to leave the small island they had settled on for fear of radiation exposure, desire to stay with their families, and, Laura suspected, sheer denial. The island, far from the mainland and apparently uninhabited at the time of Earth’s civil war, had been left practically untouched; the years spent under radioactive clouds hadn’t left it as lush as it may once have been, but there was greenery and clear water and a valley to dig their heels in. No one was eager to see the bleak, twisted landscape that she was part of at the moment.

Heavy footsteps drew Laura’s attention to the man walking towards her; she offered Bill a small smile, one that he returned. “There you are,” he said. “Racetrack found something interesting. Take a look at this.” She took a thin, dirty brochure from him and, glancing at the abstract cover and gaudy lettering, raised an eyebrow.

“You know what this says?” she asked, disbelievingly. “You sure learn quick.” Rolling his eyes, Adama opened it in her hands, and she was greeted with a small block of text that she couldn’t begin to decipher. “Bill, this still isn’t –”

“Here,” he interrupted, pointing to a line towards the bottom of the paragraph. “I don’t know the language, but even I recognized those.”

Pulling her glasses on, Laura glanced closer, and immediately felt like she had been doused with cold water. This is impossible, she thought, and quickly contradicted herself by whispering “I knew it. I _knew_ it.” She looked up at Bill, quickly, before returning her eyes to that single line with a kind of elated misery.

Yes, she recognized these. Nearly everyone did – most schools taught the ancient names of the Lords of Kobol, but even those who didn’t learn them that way would be able to familiarize themselves just by walking around for an hour in downtown Caprica City, with all of its ancient buildings; or, Gods forbid, by spending five minutes anywhere on Geminon. Laura traced the letters, not recognizable by themselves, but familiar in context: _Zeus. Hera. Athena. Poseidon._

“Where did they get this?” she wondered aloud, and was unable to keep the sudden thrill of vindication from her voice as she continued. “I thought Earth believed in one God.” This was not information that had been made available to the public, primarily to protect the now outnumbered Cylons, who had already been victim to a number of violent attacks. However, she had to admit that dealing with that cult of Baltar’s was enough of a strain as it was, and she was in no hurry to add fuel to their flame.

But now – maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all like that. Still staring at the letters, she nearly shook with the sudden, blinding realization of what she was holding in her hands. This was proof – tangible proof, not wisps of distorted prophecies or holograms in tombs, not constellations to be traced with a finger or even the shell of an abandoned planet nuked to hell – but solid, indisputable proof that they had all come from the same place, that this was the home of their brothers and sisters, and that the Thirteenth Tribe had not forgotten them. She wanted to weep.

Bill must have noticed how her eyes lost focus, because with a nod to Helo, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her towards the nest of raptors that had brought them here. “Racetrack is going to look for more. She said that there were plenty of brochures like that, but she wanted to let me know right away. She’s going to pass them on to the translation team as soon as possible. We’ll find out what it says.” He squeezed her hand, and Laura took a deep breath before letting out a small smile.

“You know, it’s been months, and sometimes I still look around and wonder if I’m dreaming. If this is really what we’re left with, after all this time.” Her mouth twitched and she pressed her lips together, hard, eyes sweeping the desolate landscape.

Shaking his head, Bill let out a sigh of his own. “Earth never looked like this in my dreams.” Laura tilted her head, a silent request for him to continue. “Earth was – it was everything we had hoped for. Green grass, blue skies, children playing in the streets. Food that wasn’t algae. Good wine,” he grinned, before becoming more serious. “A nice house. Somewhere secluded, but close enough to the rest of the family. A cabin, maybe.” He let go of her hands to frame her face.

“Sounds like a good dream,” she whispered. “I wish you didn’t have to wake up.”

Bill chuckled softly, pressing his forehead to hers. “Moments like this I think I’m still dreaming.” His lips sealed over her own trembling ones, and with a shuddering sigh she kissed him back almost desperately, clutching his shoulders and pulling him close when they broke apart.

“This is not a dream,” she told him firmly, voice somewhat steadier but eyes shining. “ _This_ is the reason I want to wake up in the morning.”

***

In the time since they had arrived on Earth, Laura had worked out a schedule of sorts. She spent three days a week on Colonial One, grounded on the island that had come to be known as Oasis, overseeing the construction of the small town. In the beginning, most people had stayed on their ships, unwilling to return to the drafty, poorly constructed tents that had been their shelter on New Caprica when they could spend their days outside and nights sleeping in crowded but warm and solid rooms. However, the Cylons had had the Centurions build small, weather-resistant huts out of wood and metal salvaged from the planet, and before long humans, mostly families, had come forward with similar requests. As months drew by, something of a functioning community was beginning to emerge.

Every Thursday, she and Bill and other high ranking officials – both human and Cylon – would visit and participate in the restoration processes on different parts of the planet. They had agreed early on that it would be good to have an idea of what was there for them, and had already yielded some results – several other habitable areas, some of which had been utilized as farmland; plenty of salvageable building material; intelligence about the Thirteenth Tribe, which always made the leader in Laura ache and the teacher in her salivate; even bomb shelters, some of which had apparently been designed for long term survival. The first one was found just days after their arrival, and she had watched as nearly twenty skeletons were brought to the surface, trying not to throw up. Despite this, she couldn’t help the funny, excited jump her stomach gave each time another one was discovered – maybe this time.

She liked her three days on Galactica best, in spite of the treatments, which hadn’t improved over time. Even as they caught breaks down on Earth – _Oasis, steady food supply, the Cylons haven’t killed us all yet_ – she figured it would take a few lifetimes worth to make up for the sheer disappointment she still felt every time she set foot on its soft surface. Galactica was a refuge, still in orbit, although Bill had admitted that it probably wouldn’t for long. “She’s tired,” he’d told her, sounding it himself. “Taken more hits than she was meant to, especially at her age. Without any real combat, she’s maybe got year or two. Less, even, with a skeleton crew – repairs will take longer.” Every trip up there, it became more and more evident in the grating of the engines and the flickering of the lights.

“One of the translators gave me a copy of that brochure today,” she told Bill a few days after he’d given it to her. She took a sip of her water and let out a breath – the treatment had gone well today, but she still had a hell of a headache. “It’s not much, but from what I can tell, they don’t really believe in the Gods – the Greek Gods, they’re called here. They’re a myth.” She took another sip, swallowing the bile down.  
Bill put down the report he had been reading next to her. “All myth is rooted in fact,” he said simply. She nodded, and pointed at the sheaf of paper on top of her bag, not willing to move from her comfortable position. He took it, and began skimming.

“Apparently, the Ancient Greeks worshipped them as Gods many years ago, but over time they were reduced to legend,” she continued. “It’s interesting, though. The little we have here matches up very closely with the descriptions of the Lords of Kobol from our Scriptures.”

“Do you think the Thirteenth Tribe originally settled in Greek?” Bill asked, still looking at the paper.

Laura shrugged. “It’s Greece, actually,” she corrected him absentmindedly. “But it certainly wouldn’t hurt to look around. If we can find the place we can send a team there to scout it out.”

He nodded. “I’ll put Gaeta on it, see if he can pinpoint the location.” Setting the translation down, he moved closer, wrapping an arm around her as she leaned into his side. “How was the treatment today?”

“Same old,” she said, shrugging a shoulder and looking up at him. “Actually, the Caprica Six was there. She’s due any day now. We talked a bit – she and Tigh are arguing again. She sounds about ready to send him here for a few days.” Her eyes twinkled as Bill let out a snort.

“I spent more time on his couch than at home when Carolanne was pregnant with the boys, so I guess I owe him.”

“Just make sure you tell him not to piss her off when I’m around,” Laura giggled. “I rather like my roommate, and I’ve been told I’m not all that good at sharing.”

Bill tugged her closer, kissing her temple. “Well, I’m still sorry I wasn’t there, even if you did wind up with company,” he told her. Lee had been on the ship that afternoon, for the first time in several weeks – the Quorum had been established on the island under Tom Zarek, busy passing law after law. “But you know, we’re running out of books. We’ll have to find a library soon.”

“Mmm,” Laura agreed, yawning. “This round is almost over, anyway. Cottle’s hoping that this could be it.” Although the first few courses of Diloxin had done little besides keeping the cancer contained, recently the tumor had begun to shrink, significantly enough that the _dying leader_ clause had stopped ringing so loudly in her ears. She was reluctant to let go of it, though, even after D’Anna’s recent death had stirred new rumors. Too much hope, she had learned many times, could be dangerous.

***

Greece was comprised of many small islands, most of which had been left intact, although with radiation levels that Cottle had decided presented an unnecessary risk to Laura’s condition. Bill left with the initial scouting teams early Monday morning.

“Go on, then,” she sighed, kissing his cheek and pushing him towards the waiting raptor. “Go find out about the Thirteenth Tribe. I’ll be waiting with bated breath.” Despite Cottle’s warnings, she had been reluctant to forego this trip.

Bill rolled his eyes. “You’ll get to go next week, when the Diloxin is out of your system. Quit whining,” he grumbled, an amused smile betraying his tone. “Satellites haven’t shown anything exciting anyway.”

“Hmph,” she snorted, scowling, before a giggle bubbled out. “Fine. But you’d better bring me back a souvenir.”

Laura left soon after the scouting team, heading down to Colonial One for a meeting with the Education Committee and an appearance at the small, four room school that had been completed a couple of months ago. Having taught several of the children on New Caprica, she made an effort to visit and maybe read a story or two whenever her schedule allowed it.

The first reports from Greece came from Seelix early the next morning. “All of the writing here is Colonial,” she announced over the wireless. “It’s modernized, but definitely Colonial. It’s amazing here –like being back on Caprica. Even the buildings look the same.”

Laura sucked in a breath. The continent they had landed on, North America, had spoken a variant of Ancient Scorpian, a language used primarily in the priesthood but sometimes in science. Although there was a handful of people in the fleet familiar enough with it to translate, work had been slow, and very frustrating. But _Colonial…_

“What else have you found, Lieutenant?” she asked, deliberately keeping her voice loud steady in an effort to calm the excited Quorum. “Any sign of where the Thirteenth Tribe landed?”

“No, sir,” Seelix replied. “But there are ruins here – not from the war, these are much older. They look a hell of a lot like the ruins on Kobol. Tyrol and Gaeta are working with some of the Sixes to try and figure out when they might have been built.”

The Geminon delegate stood. “Have you found any references to the Lords of Kobol?” she asked eagerly.

“Yeah, there are plenty of temples and relics,” said Seelix, and the room erupted once more. Laura raised her hand, listening for the pilot’s next words. “We’ve got people trying to piece everything together – it looks like they were worshipped ages ago, probably by the first generations of the Tribe, but now they’re more of a myth. They’re still prevalent in this culture, though – or at least they were,” she added hastily. “The area we’re in is called Athens, probably named for Athena.”

“The Admiral is talking about relocating most of our personnel here to focus on finding out what we can, but we’re going to have to stay in shifts to try and conserve radiation meds,” Seelix continued. “He’s with Starbuck now but says he’ll return to Galactica on Friday to start working out a plan.”

Friday. Just three more days. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Laura said in as steady a voice as she could manage. “Please convey our gratitude to everyone with you, and let us know if there’s anything we can do.” She’d have to keep busy for the next few days, anyway.

***

Her last treatment was scheduled for late afternoon, allowing her to get most of her business out of the way while she was still on her feet. She didn’t bring a book with her, rather some paperwork; even as Cottle hooked her up and the cursed fluid began dripping into her, Laura couldn’t help but hope that Bill might make it back in time to keep her company. Treatment days left her feeling rather selfish.

The paperwork, meant to distract her from the rising nausea, did very little. She threw it aside with a heavy sigh, wishing not for the first time that Tory was still around. The old Tory, the one who helped her find a wig when she couldn’t look at her half-head of hair anymore, the one who slept on a lumpy cot on Colonial One rather than a four-poster bed with silk sheets and Gaius Baltar. The human Tory. Laura hadn’t allowed herself to get close to her new assistant, an older woman she hired out of necessity rather than desire. She’d had too many disappointments.

When she heard heavy, familiar footsteps enter sickbay, Laura opened her eyes and bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. It broke through anyway as the curtain opened and Bill stepped into her excuse of a hospital room. “Hey,” she greeted him, scooting over to make room on the bed.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said in return, settling next to her and kissing the top of her head. “Got held up on the surface. How are you feeling?”  
Laura leaned against him, looking up to meet his gaze. “Never better,” she grinned, and he snorted.

“You want some wine with that cheese?”

She slapped his arm playfully. “Shut up, the treatment isn’t as bad today and I’m going to enjoy it. Gods know it won’t last long.” Nestling back into his side, she added, “Tell me about Greece.”

“It’s a goldmine,” Bill said honestly. “It’s in ruins, of course, but we’re salvaging plenty. There are temples, statues, all sorts of things that look like they’re right out of the Colonies. Plenty of museums, some intact. Right now everyone is clustered in one area, but we’re going to start spreading out over the islands in the next week.”

“Good,” she murmured. “That’s fantastic. And it will be so much easier to get information – I still can’t believe they spoke Colonial.”

Bill squeezed her hand. “There are other benefits of not having to translate,” he told her, and reached down for a bag she hadn’t noticed. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a book – dusty and hardback, it wasn’t one she recognized from his library, and her eyes widened as he continued. “You said you wanted a souvenir.”

Laura’ s breath caught. “I – oh,” she breathed, unable to speak clearly around the sudden lump in her throat. He looked down at her, concerned, as goosebumps broke out along her arms – she reassured him with a watery smile and another soft exclamation as she ran her fingers over the soft leather cover. _The Odyssey_ was spelled out in gold letters. Tracing them reverently, she finally removed her hand from the book only to take his and squeeze it, hoping to convey what she couldn’t put into words.

He seemed to understand, because with a kiss to her forehead, he opened the book and began to read.

 _Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns  
driven time and time again off course, once he had plundered  
the hallowed heights of Troy.  
Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,  
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea,  
fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.  
But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove –  
the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all,  
the blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun  
and the Sungod wiped from sight the day of their return.  
Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus,  
start from where you will – sing for our time, too._


End file.
